Monday, November 8, 2010

Excerpt From "Dandelion Tears"

Please note that this is only a rough draft so please excuse the errors in grammar and sentence structure.

Please click here for the original post that this goes to.

For the longest time, Fryja didn’t say or do anything. After she’d laid back down, she brought her hair forward to protect her eye sockets from further damage and gave thought on how she was going to get to the campsite. She could have traveled on foot once she got out from under the horse, but was unable to see her way through without her wraps. The thought of traveling blind without any help through the back country bothered her so much, that for the first time since she lost her eyes, she cried.

No sound could be heard nor were there any tears flowing. Instead, heavy waves of sadness were injected into the atmosphere, which in turn caused her immediate surroundings to dry up and shrivel away. How long this went on Fryja couldn’t say, but eventually she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, which caused her to break her train of thought.

Instinctively reaching up to bring her hair forward, she was surprised to feel someone grab her wrists and kiss her hands. The next thing that she felt was that same person wrap their arms around her chest and with a gentle tug, pulled her out from under the horse. She then felt herself being stood up and having her arms draped across that same person’s shoulders. With a couple of jerks and a tug, she found herself being carried like a backpack.

Fryja wasn’t sure what to make of all this, but she needed to find out whether that helping hand was friend or foe. So she took a chance and blurted out the one name that she knew would be daft enough to do something like this in the first place.

 “Jerry! Oh my God! Put me down and let me check you out!”
 Jerry put her down and turned around. With shaky hands, she ran them all over his face and body. Satisfied that it was her erstwhile confidant, she grabbed him in a huge bear hug and kissed him roughly about the face.
 When she’d finished, she took his hand and asked, “Do you need anything?”
 Jerry looked down at her heaving and swollen chest, and even though he desperately wanted an energy boost, he answered, “Not yet.”
 “Are you sure?”

Fryja gave his cheek a gentle caress, and after her hand linger for a few extra seconds, threw him a sly smile and walked over to a small rock formation that she sensed about a minute ago. Coming to a stop some ten feet away, she turned around and snapped her fingers.
 When Jerry appeared at her side a few seconds later, she said, “Find a suitable rock and walk me over to it.”

Jerry spent a few seconds scanning the formation for a suitable rock that offered both privacy and a modicum of comfort. Once he found it, he took her by the hand and brought her over to it. When they got there, Fryja tapped the rock and motioned for Jerry to take a seat.
 She waited until he said, “Okay.” then moved in until her chest was a couple of inches from his face.
 “Do you have an extra pair on you?”
 Jerry answered by placing the spare pair of wraps in her hand. She flipped her hair back and placed them on her face. Picking up his chin, she looked deep into his eyes and asked, “Are you ready?”
 He licked his lips and said, “Yes.”
 “Okay, you got about fifteen minutes to play with, and you can put your hands wherever you think they’ll do you the most good. Got it?”

Jerry’s eyes lit up like a small child’s on All Hollow’s Eve. Fryja unbuttoned her vest, before opening her bra and taking them out. After spending several seconds airing them out, she took a couple of steps in and straddled his waist. Resting her arms on his shoulders, she kissed his forehead and got ready to be milked and consumed.

The one thing that incessantly drove Fryja to take unnecessary risks that often turned into monumental mistakes, like losing her eyes, was the fact that she was turned into a feeder. She had arrived at the pod in much the same way as Melanie did some two decades later: strung out on crank and giving titty fucks at five bucks a pop to feed her habit.

When she’d arrived, unconscious and sedated, the geneticists took one look at her huge set of boobs and changed directions. Without consulting anyone, they tweaked her genetic profile so that she would become another feeder for the pod, instead of the hunter that she was recruited to be.

The first inkling that Fryja had that something wasn’t quite right with her was about a couple of hours after she regained consciousness. She had just stepped out of the shower and was drying herself off in the bedroom, when a memory of a pleasurable encounter came blasting through the pharmaceutical haze that was rapidly dissipating. Several seconds later, she felt something warm and sticky running down her chest and stomach. Walking over to a wall mirror, she was horrified to see a milky substance spewing from her breasts.

After dipping her finger in for a taste and quickly spitting it out, she went nuclear. Much like Melanie did two decades later, she went on a one week rampage of destruction that left no one or nothing untouched, unbeaten or unbowed. When the dust finally settled, it was determined that Fryja was well in her right to overreact like she did.

However, because it was deemed too dangerous to attempt a genetic reversal and turn her back into a hunter from a feeder, it was decided that even though she would remain a feeder for the rest of her life, she would also be taught how to control her lactations to the point where she could be successfully reintroduced back into the pod society.

 For the next month, Fryja was given intensive training on how to control her lactations, specifically, how to turn it on so as to relieve the pressure and thus lighten the load, and how keep it off when pursuing the day to day activities of pod living. When her training was finished, she was able to keep her lactating in check by keeping her temper at a slow simmer. So long as she was on an even keel with leanings towards anger, she was drier than Death Valley. If she wanted to relieve the pressure, all she had to do was think of something sensual, and more often than not, she became a torrential summer downpour.

Except for the bump in the road that was Melanie, the preceding sixty eight years were spent in blissful contentment. She went about her business, and used what she drained for the occasional bribe to take care of her special needs.

Two years ago, those bribes that were used to fulfill those special needs came back to extract their pound of flesh. One summer night, a jealous member of the Royal Entourage snuck inside her apartment and spent several hours raping and torturing her. First he tortured her by playing half hour segments of hypnotically sensuous music, before repeatedly sucking her breasts dry. In between bouts of drinking and sucking, he savagely raped her repeatedly all three ways.

He finished off his night of debauchery by taking the one thing that she cherished: her sight. He grabbed a roll of duct tape, taped up her wrists and slapped a couple of pieces across her mouth. Sitting on her chest, he then spent the next three minutes digging his thumbs into her sockets and scraping out her eyeballs.
Once he got them out, he said, “Thanks for the snack. Tell anyone about what happened and I’ll come back to finish you off.”

Popping them into his mouth, he walked out of the apartment and left Fryja drowning in a growing pool of her own blood. She would’ve died had it not been for Jerry who, unbeknownst to the rapist, was hiding underneath the bed and heard everything.

Four months later, after nursing Fryja back to health, Jerry met a similarly gruesome fate. That same member of the Royal Entourage somehow found out that Jerry was a witness to his crime, so when he found Jerry at Fryja’s apartment late one he cold cocked him and dragged him out to the backyard. He punched him a couple more times to make sure he was unconscious, then took out a scalpel and sliced out his frontal lobes and a chunk of his cerebellum.

Several months later,  Fryja found herself on a planet she didn’t like, going after a person she didn’t know, having contact with a person she didn’t like, and partnered up with a lover that she’d nursed back to health with the mental capacity of a six year old, and getting chummy with the one person who could squash her like a cockroach with a snap of her fingers.
“Yeah, it just don’t get worse than…this. Oh shit, Jerry, keep your fingers right there for another thirty seconds. I’m just about ready for milking!”

Fryja had needed some intense emotional excitement in order to produce enough milk for drinking, and Jerry was able to give her what she needed. He’d unbuttoned her jeans and lowered them and her panties just enough to expose her ass and her box to the elements.

He gently and tenderly massaged her cheeks, taking extreme care not to let his fingers wander down to where they would do the most good. Even though she was sufficiently recovered from her rape of a year ago, one rule was made viciously crystal clear to Jerry: no touching of her heart shaped box. So he lightly tapped her inner thigh, which in turn told Fryja to take a half step to both sides.

The effect of Mother Nature gently rolling through her legs was instantaneous. Fryja felt an inner warmth that had been missing for quite some time, and several seconds later started lactating. Jerry waited until he saw a steady stream running from both nipples, then moved his hand to he back and pulled her closer.

Fryja stretched her arms so that Jerry could get more of her into his mouth, then rested her chin in a thinking man’s position, taking care not to dig her elbows into his shoulders. Settling down, she spent the rest of his feeding taking in the warm desert countryside and thinking about his gentle fingers massaging and probing her giant muscle knot of a body, which in turn kept her lactating far beyond the fifteen minute she gave him to use.

Less then ten seconds beyond that time limit, she felt a small wave of vomit in her mouth. After spitting out a couple of chunks, she sadly remembered that while Jerry was an adult, he still had the mental capacity of a six year old, and thus was susceptible to major bouts of confusion. Sighing hard, she touched his cheek to get his attention before tuning into his frequency.

‘My love, you can still drink as much as you want. I’m so enjoying my down time that I’m creating an extra amount of milk for you to drink. Just let me know when you’re finished, so that we can continue on our mission. Okay?’

Jerry’s eyes again lit up and he attacked her boobs with a ferocity that caught her a little by surprise. She spent the rest of his feeding caressing his head and bathing his conscience with heartfelt words of love. When he’d finally had his fill, he wiped the saliva from them, before putting her back to the way she was. Beaming with satisfaction, he sat down, folded his hands and waited for her to tell him what was next.

Fryja took a handful of hair, wrapped it around her hand and began wiping the leftover milk from his face. Smiling, she said to him, “You really are a sloppy eater.”

The shit eatin’ grin that he flashed told her that once again he was traveling on another plane in the solar system. Sighing, she kissed his forehead and whispered in his ear, “I love you more than you could possible imagine or comprehend, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t make it out of here with me.”

(c) 2010 by GBMJr. All rights reserved


  1. I have to tell you the more graphic horror scenes make me cringe...but that's the point, right?

  2. R: To a degree yes, but I'm trying to present these scenes as normal as possible without making people cringe.

    The violence varies to a degree, but so far what you read is about as nasty as it gets.

    Writing violence has not been one of my strong suits, but I'm finding a happy medium of sorts by grossing people (and myself to a small degree) at the same time.


Originality. Is. Good. Be original. Be thoughtful. But most importantly, make me think.